


Please Cough

by hobbitsdoitbetter



Series: Flying Solo In Tandem [1]
Category: Sherlock (TV), Sherlock Holmes & Related Fandoms
Genre: Aftermath of a Case, F/M, Gratuitous Smut, Masturbation, Mild S&M, Mildly Dubious Consent, Molly Is A Bit Not Good, Post-Episode: s04e02 The Lying Detective, Sexual Fantasy, Sherlock Holmes and Drug Use, WankLock, ambulance sex, molly hooper takes care of business
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-03-16
Updated: 2017-03-16
Packaged: 2018-10-06 05:10:28
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 1,931
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/10326275
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/hobbitsdoitbetter/pseuds/hobbitsdoitbetter
Summary: It’s wrong, of course she knows it’s wrong.He was high when they were in the ambulance.He was sick, and in pain, and risking killing himself from guilt over Mary’s death,  from a desire to save John from his grief.And yet...In the aftermath of The Lying Detective, Molly seems unable to get the image of a certain high, bearded, addict out of her head. Being a practical sort of woman, she elects to take care of this new fetish herself- Without involving Sherlock. Or so she thinks...





	

_Disclaimer_ : This fanfiction is not written for profit and no infringement of copyright is intended. Very NSFW; this is in answer to the wank!lock tag going on over on tumblr. Enjoy!

* * *

**~ PLEASE COUGH ~**

* * *

 

It’s wrong, of course she knows it’s wrong.

He was high when they were in the ambulance.

He was sick, and in pain, and risking killing himself from guilt over Mary’s death,  from a desire to save John from his grief.

He was not in a good place, Molly knows that, and there is no way that she would ever take advantage of that; having sex with someone when you’ re sober and they’re clearly not is not on. _It’s not okay._ It doesn’t matter how bloody hot he looks with stubble and a dangerous glint in his eye-

_Friends don’t shag friends when they’re not compis mentis._

But though Molly knows that she would never take advantage of her friend Sherlock in real life, she can’t seem to stop fantasising about doing precisely that when she’s on her own.

The thought of the pair of them alone in the back of that ambulance, the door locked and Sherlock undressed, is driving her bloody mad.

She’s tried everything. Cold showers. Stern talking-tos. And on the other side, reading erotica. Watching porn. She even considered going out, getting drunk and picking up some random bloke for a nice, long shag, the better to get all this sexual tension out of her system and restore her sanity. The only problem with that plan being that, having enacted it tonight, not a single, solitary bloke took her fancy. Meena scored, as did their mutual friend Hannah, but Molly? Molly didn’t get so much as a whiff of a bonk. She couldn’t seem to summon any interest at all. By the time the pub had called last orders she was already putting on her coat, preparing to head back to her flat-

She was only in the door, hanging up her coat, when the image of Sherlock popped into her head again. Grizzled. Thin. Razor-edged and buzzing with energy. Dangerous and frail and sexy as Hell.

Molly sighs, letting out a little, despairing puff of laughter, and kicks off her shoes. Makes her way to her bedroom, shedding clothes as she goes. _Might as well get this over with_   she tells herself, experience telling her that once that image pops into her head, it’s not going anywhere. With that in mind, she lays down on top of the covers, feeling around beneath her bed for her toy box. Pulling out her favourite little vibrator and closing her eyes. Calming her breathing. Allowing her arousal to begin to build. Behind her eyelids she can see Sherlock as he was that day in the ambulance, can watch him slowly pull his trousers down his lean narrow hips-She wets her lips at the thought of it-

_“You’re staring, Doctor Hooper,” he says, and there’s a smug smirk at his lip._

_Molly narrows her eyes at him, snapping on a single latex glove, then another, and the smirk gets worse._

_“Enjoy the snap of latex, do you?” he leers. “I might have known-”_

_Her tone is sharp. He’s pissing her off. “This isn’t a joke, Sherlock,” she hisses._

_With a sharp tug he yanks his trousers down; He’s not wearing any underwear either, and despite herself Molly’s eyes widen at the sight of his cock, semi-hard and bare._

_He steps out of his trousers, socks and shoes, sidles over to her with that damnable, insouciant confidence he specialises in._

_“Do I look like I’m joking to you, Molly?”  he asks quietly._

_His tone is soft. Intent. Dangerous._

_He’s within touching distance of her now, and her mouth has suddenly gone very, very dry._

_He takes a step closer to her, but though she wants to back up, she doesn’t-_

Lying in her bed, Molly bites her lip, slides her hand up to cup her breast. She knows what’s coming next; she knows what she wants. With slow deliberation she slides her other hand down her belly, down to her mound. She lets her thumb press gently against her clit and her breath hitches at the sensation-

_“That’s it,” Sherlock says, his eyes raking over her. “That’s it: tell me whether you think I’m joking, Doctor Hooper.”_

_He somehow manages to make her title sound like a jibe._

_Without asking her permission he reaches out, grabs her wrist. Pulls her hand down until it’s pressed against his cock. He hisses in pleasure at the contact and though Molly knows she should pull her hand back, (or better yet, punch him for being such an arsehole) she doesn’t. No, that’s too easy._

_What she **wants** is to wipe that bloody smirk off his face. _

_What she **wants** is to show him who’s in charge right now. _

_So without saying a word she splays her fingers, takes him into her hand._

_The feel of him is hard and hot against her palm._

_She steps forward as she does it, leaving him no choice but to step back until she’s crowded him onto the ambulance gurney. His arse hits it and he stumbles, collapsing messily until he’s sitting, his eye-line directly in front of her cleavage._

_He has to tip his head back to look at her and oh, but that’s better..._

_With a smirk of her own she tightens her grip on him, uses her thumb to spread his pre-cum from the head of his penis down his length. She moves her hand sharply as she does, tugging at his cock. He gives a hiss of pleasure at it, his mouth dropping open and his Adam’s apple working visibly as he gulps._

_“Do you like that, Doctor Hooper?” he asks, but this time is voice is higher. More breathy. Less certain._

_His hands have curled into fists, the nails digging into the leather of the gurney._

_His eyelids are starting to flutter shut with pleasure._

_“No,” Molly says, “But I can tell that you do, Mr. Holmes.” She gifts his cock with another brisk, sharp stroke, since that seems to be what he likes._

_**“** But the thing is,” she continues, “it doesn’t matter whether I enjoy this: I’m merely getting this beautiful, thick prick ready to finally be useful to me-”_

_And she reaches out, curls a hand through his hair. Yanks his head back sharply and then kisses him, stealing his breath. When she pulls back she’s pleased to see that his pupils are dilated, his hips beginning to work, to push in time with her tugging. With quick, certain movements she reaches down, pulls open the buttons on her tan trousers and pulls them down. Presses her knickers to one side and takes Sherlock in hand. Pulls herself onto his lap._

_He lets out a small, needy whine as he slides inside her and she laughs, the sound  of it low and lewd and dark._

In her bed, Molly moans, her fingers slipping side herself.

She pulls and tugs at her nipple even as she begins to ride her own hand.

_“Does it feel good?” she coos, beginning to move her hips, and there’s an edge to her tone. A cruelty to it._

_She’s got all the power in this situation, she doesn’t doubt that, and she intends to use it as she will._

_Sherlock gasps- “Yes,” he hisses, “Yes, it feels very good-” She increases her pace slightly, beginning to truly ride his cock, and he lets out a rather impressive string of swear words. “Fuck,” he mutters, and there’s something so erotic about hearing him swear that Molly tightens her grip on him. Bites down sharply on his lower lip._ _This causes him to swear again, to begin thrusting more harshly up into her._

_He punctuates every snap of his hips with a breathless, helpless, “fuck, fuck, fuck.”_

_Taking one hand, Molly presses his fingers down on her clit, her own hand sliding around to grip and knead his perfect, luscious arse. She digs her nails into his flesh and he keens. S_ _he increases the pace of her thrusts and he matches her, muttering all the while. She pulls sharply on his hair- “Look at me,”- and his eyes fly open, moving unerringly to hers-_

_With a sly grin she slides her latex-covered thumb and forefinger along his lips and he knows what to do._

_He opens his mouth. Sucks and licks her fingers. When she pulls them out, when she slides her gloved, wet hand down his back and towards his backside he nods at her. He's having trouble catching his breath. “Please,” he tells her. “Please. Oh please, Molly, please..."_

_She slides her finger between his arse-cheeks and finds the puckered little hole of his anus. With a grunt he opens to her- so he's done this before, she thinks- and she slides her finger inside. Twists it just **so**. _

_She is rewarded by a long, low, gorgeously helpless moan._

_He hisses in pleasure, losing control; Suddenly she’s on her back on the gurney, Sherlock rutting into her as if he’s lost his mind. He’s holding her free hand above her head (the other is still penetrating him furiously.) He’s sucking so hard at her throat that she’s sure he’ll leave a mark. "So good," he murmurs, "It's so fucking good, Molly..."_

_Orgasm snaps through her, tearing the breath from her throat and making her heart hammer-_

_“Molly,” she can hear him saying, “Gorgeous, fuckable, fucking Molly-Oh Christ- Oh God-Fuck me, fuck me, fuck me, yes...”_

Molly thrashes and gasps at the thought of it, her own orgasm exploding through her. There's heat, pleasure; it comes over and over again in endless, ever-widening ripples. In waves of absolute bliss. She drops her head back onto her pillow, her body loose. Boneless. Sated.

It always is, after she's made herself come by thinking of him.

Naked, covered in sweat, she lies on her back and trembles. Tries to catch her breath. _So much for getting him out of my system,_ she thinks and then she can’t help it, she laughs out loud at the absurdity of such a notion-

 _She'll never get Sherlock Holmes out of her system,_ she tells herself. _Surely she should know that by now?_

* * *

 

What she doesn’t see is the dark shape moving away from her bedroom, towards the door of her flat.

What she doesn’t see is a Belstaff being shrugged onto thin, lean shoulders, its collar turned up against the cold and the rain and the rapid reddening of Sherlock Holmes’ burning cheeks.

With a deep, steadying breath the detective leans his palms against the wall beside him. Dips his head, eyes closed, body trembling. The sight of what he just witnessed won't stop playing behind his eyes. After a moment he forces himself to straighten up. Strides down the hall away from her flat, his pace so hasty you’d think the devil were at his heels. Tomorrow he’ll finally ask her for coffee, he tells himself; tomorrow he’ll finally tell her how he feels about her. _Tomorrow._  He can’t possibly do it tonight. Not after hearing that. Not after, after _seeing_ her.

Sherlock stands outside in the cold, soft rain  of a London evening. Stares at the sky and tries to will his erection away; he feels vaguely disgusted with himself, when he can't.

He gets about ten steps into the night before he backtracks and makes his way into Molly’s building again, his face determined beneath its blush.

_This time he'll use his key._


End file.
